Uninvited
by Delirious-Comfort
Summary: Slightly AU. Hermione is curious, has a hunger that cannot be satisfied with books, which lead her to enter the BDSM dungeon of the person she knows better as Professor Black. Rated M for later chapters, if BDSM is not your thing, this story probably won't be either.
1. Chapter 1

She should not be here. Of this, she is sure. Still, slow but steady steps are leading her forwards towards a glooming building. There's something in the air, something intangible on the tips of her fingers. It's there and at the same time, it's not.

The rough scrape of a throat pulls her from a trance.

"Domme or sub?"

"Neither," she says.

Her entire body throbs. For a moment she wonders if he can hear her thundering heartbeat. The man in front of her towers over her and she looks up at him when he regards her with a curious look. It fades as soon as she notices it.

"Then move along."

"Why?"

His gaze moves over her body. She feels violated, uncomfortable.

"No switches allowed."

She swallows, inhales sharply. "Sub."

"Your wand," he says, holding out a hand.

Hesitating, she twirls the wooden piece between her fingers.

"I don't have all day."

She reluctantly hands it over. He opens a door and motions for her to step through. The tidal wave of magic soaring through her body is a strange sensation. She knows about the spell; one designed to keep Hogwart's students out. Smirking, she steps forwards, the spell allowing her entrance. They don't call her the brightest witch of her age for nothing.

The door closes behind her and she's alone. Darkness surrounds her, it's both terrifying and comforting. In the distance a flicker of light calls for her. Like a siren trapping its victims. She descends the stairs, towards the light.

Another bulky, giant of a man stands in front of a door.

"Arms up," he says, and she obliges.

His hands pat down her body and she wants to vomit. She knows it's a necessary evil, though. Once he is convinced she has no hidden weapons on her, he speaks.

"Domme or sub?"

Her answer comes faster this time and he gives her a short nod.

"Sitting on the furniture is not allowed. There are pillows on the floor, kneeling is not required. The Dungeon Mistress is in charge, you will do as she says. Questions?"

 _A million._ Instead, she shakes her head. She never expected to even get this far. He, too, regards her with a curious look before opening the door.

She steps through, the scene in front of her nothing short of overwhelming. The room is much bigger than she had anticipated. Her gaze shifts from left to right and back to the left again as she seizes it up.

Along the brick walls, the faint flicker of candles and torches, illuminating the room. To her left a group of Dommes and submissives, too enthralled in their own conversation to notice her. To her right empty chairs and pillows. It's what's straight ahead of her that nearly draws a gasp.

The Dungeon Mistress sits on, what she can only describe as, a throne, surrounded by Dommes and submissives eagerly awaiting the attention they don't deserve nor will get.

Black curls cascading down pale shoulders. A black, lace corset dress hugging curves she can only dream of. _Has_ dreamed of, in fact.

Licking her lips, she swiftly moves to the right until she collides into a wall. She wants to hug it, instead she lets herself slide down until she's sitting comfortable on a pillow. She hugs her legs with her arms as she observes. Her gaze never lingers for more than two seconds in the same place, terrified someone will actually notice her.

Short of mastering the skill of invisibility, she knows how to not draw attention to herself. It's what's kept her alive all these years and it's what will get her through this evening, or so she hopes.

She focuses once more on what's happening in the confinement of the room.

Half-naked boys, no– men, with collars around their necks, slowly moving around the room, handing out drinks left and right. No matter how many they pass out, the trays never actually running out of beverages.

Behind the Dungeon Mistress are several doors. She can only imagine what happens in them, she's in no hurry to find out anytime soon. At times the doors will open, submissives crawling out on hands and knees along with their Owners. Some of them are on leashes, seemingly being dragged along, others blindly following their Owners to their respective places in the dungeon.

Ignoring the faint throb in her abdomen, her gaze wanders to the Dungeon Mistress once more. Sitting comfortable on her throne, she doesn't speak to anyone, her wand twirling between her fingers. Sometimes she'll shake her head when a submissive comes to close, only to cower in fear when she aims her wand at them. No spells leave the wand, the threat of it enough to have the submissives back off, their heads bowed down.

It's only then she notices there are no other female submissives in the room. She hugs the wall tighter with her back, the revelation not one she had expected. For a moment she worries if she's not allowed in here, but if she wasn't, why would the bouncer have allowed her access? The only reason why she shouldn't be here, is because, at nineteen years old, she is still very much a Hogwarts' student. Even if it's only for a few more months.

Her gaze is drawn to the Dungeon Mistress again, this time lingering longer, unable to look away. She studies the eyes that are so much more than just black. They're the color of dark, starry nights, when the only light comes from those carefully placed stars. They're the color of a black hole in which everything gets lost. They're not black, no– they're exquisite, as is she. They're the most expressive eyes she has ever had the fortune seeing with her own.

It's when those eyes lock with hers that she stops breathing completely, suddenly uncertain the charm she cast on herself will be enough. She should have known better. The Mistress' eyes squint slightly and there's the tiniest movement of the wand, firmly grasped between slender fingers. Suddenly, it's as if all the oxygen is expelled from her body, all at once. She gasps for air and panics as the Mistress raises a perfectly arched eyebrow. It's in that moment that she knows. She's been made.

Another movement, and the oxygen returns to her, and she sucks in air as if her life depends on it. For a moment, it did. The magic soars through her body and she can feel how the charm has returned to her, once again shielding her true identify.

The Mistress' eyes never leave hers. The perfectly round, raised eyebrow restores to its former position. Even from a distance she can see the tightening of the lips, before they relax. There's a murmur and she can feel how her body is bound, unable to change positions, or move altogether.

Outside of these dungeons the Dungeon Mistress is her professor of the Defense Against the Dark Arts. Inside these walls there's not a trace of the professor's usual demeanor left.

She swallows, the only action aside from breathing, that her body still allows her. Her heart thunders beneath her skin, she's terrified of what's going to happen next. And yet... she knows she doesn't have to be scared. She feels safe. Somewhat, anyway.

She watches as the professor snaps her fingers and within mere minutes the room is empty and there's a silence unlike anything she has ever experienced before. It's just them now, the professor still seated on her throne as if nothing has changed, her own body still bound.

She can't even fathom what must be going through the professor's mind right now. Under no circumstance should she have been able to get inside the building; both the student restriction and the muggle repellant spell should have kept her out. At least, she thinks there must be a muggle repellant spell, as the place is flooded with magic. She highly doubts that the professor sees mudbloods as anything other than muggles who should have never been allowed into the magic world.

She has no idea how much time passes, before the spell on her body disappears and a crooked finger urges her to come closer. As she tries to stand up there's a small shake of a head, black curls flowing along. She swallows thickly, moves onto her knees, waiting for permission to come closer. If nothing else, she's learned a thing or two from observing tonight.

There's an overwhelming feeling of embarrassment as the Mistress beckons her closer once more. She wants to fight it, but her body has a mind of its own. Within mere seconds she's at the Mistress' feet and assumes a kneeling position that she's seen used before.

The charm is once more lifted, and she feels naked and trapped now that her true self has been revealed, but at least this time she can breathe. She's too scared to look up, terrified that the professor will aim the wand at her and speak an unforgiveable curse.

For a while nothing happens, she studies the pattern on the floor, her mind desperate for something. This is exactly why she always has a book in hand: to offer herself a form of distraction in case all else fails.

"I assume you're not here to do your essay research."

It's the absolute last thing she expected to fall from the professor's lips. A small smile tugs at her own, but she tries her best to ignore it. She doesn't know if she's even supposed to answer or not. So, she goes for the safe option and shakes her head.

"Tell me why in three words or less."

 _Oh god._ She's a rambler, the professor knows that. She swallows most of what she wants to say and settles on one word in the hopes it will convey all she wants to say.

"Curiosity." She notices she sounds much braver than she feels. Her breathing is shallow, her heartbeat still going six hundred beats per hour.

"You shouldn't be here, pet."

She looks up at the name and immediately lowers her head as she notices the disappointed look on her professor's face. No one has ever called her that before. It's both degrading and arousing at the same time. Perhaps it's dungeon etiquette. Somehow, she doubts it.

From the corner of her eye she can see the professor leaning forward. A hand digs itself in her hair and before she knows what's happening, her head is pulled back by the hairs firmly grasped in the professor's hand.

"Curiosity is not good enough," Professor Black sneers in her ear. Her lips so close to the skin and yet so far away. "Try again."

"I-Idiosyncrasy."

"I didn't ask for a synonym. Last chance."

She finds it incredibly hard to focus. The professor's face is close to hers and it takes everything she has to not lean forward to steal a kiss from those lips. Not that the professor would let her. If she's honest with herself, she doesn't even understand why she has the urge to kiss her professor of all people.

"Stupidity."

Professor Black smirks at that.

Her body shivers as the professor's wand touches her bare neck. Before she knows what's happening, something heavy locks around her neck. The professor releases her hair and leans back in her throne. The absence of the touch makes her heart ache. She'd do anything to have that hand wrapped in her hair again. To have the professor close enough to touch.

"Touch it," Professor Black says. Her voice leaving no room for argument.

Her hands tremble as she reaches up, her own fingers running along – what she can only assume is – a collar. It consists of a thick strip of leather, a metal ring in the front. Confusions spreads around her face as she realizes there's no actual lock on it, and therefore no way to take it off. Panic sets in.

"Relax," the professor says. "I'll take it off when you've deserved it."

 _That'll be never_ , she thinks. Licking her lips, anticipation grows with every second. The absence of anything happening makes her incredibly uncomfortable. Her knees are aching, and her thighs are burning from the unfamiliar position. It won't be long before every muscle in her body will go completely numb and god knows what will happen then.

Professor Black has yet to say another word and she's too nervous to say something herself, scared the inevitable word vomit will buy her a one-way ticket back to Hogwarts.

She's quite sure that all the time spent in the professor's class wouldn't accumulate to the amount of time the professor has been staring at her just now. She supposes it's only fair; she's done her own amount of staring over the last couple of years. Still, there's only so much staring one can do before needing more. And she needs more, craves it, will do anything and it scares her that the professor more than likely knows this.

"Stand up."

With a groan, she does as instructed, her body grateful for the change in position.

"Hands behind your back."

She inhales sharply as she puts her hands behind her back. They're immediately bound together with a material unfamiliar to her. Her entire body is quivering, her mind reeling as she wonders what's going to happen next. She watches as the professor stands up, smoothing out at the creases in her dress. Out of nowhere a black metal chain connects from the metal ring around her neck to something she can't see in the professor's hand.

"Come."

The chain tugs at her and her legs carry her forward. She tries not to check out her professor's curves in the corset dress, but it's an almost impossible task. As far as backsides go, her professor won the lottery with hers.

A door opens and then closes behind her.

Her gaze grows wide as she realizes what the room is designed for; play. She doesn't even know what it entails, but she's seen the men who went in here, only to come out with faces red, scratches visible all over their backs.

"Professor," she starts, sounding terrified, before a stern look renders her speechless.

"Miss Black," the professor corrects her. "I'd think very carefully about what comes out of that insolent mouth of yours."

 _So, this is what torture feels like_ , she thinks, contemplating what it is exactly that she means to say. She hadn't planned any of this.

There had been rumors at school. Most of them fueled by Draco Malfoy himself, and just like his aunt, no one dared going against the boy. But she listened, observed, put the pieces together over several months. In the end she had gone against everything she stood for and forced one of the Hogwarts house elves to tell her the truth. Not knowing drove her crazy, as did now the guilt of having used that kind of power over someone so vulnerable.

It had taken her weeks to concoct the perfect spell that would let her pass the student barrier of the dungeon. The charm to slightly alter her appearance had been much easier, the last thing she wanted was for anyone to know that Hermione Granger had a desire that not even she could name. She had always ached for knowledge, found solace in it even. But, there was always a piece missing, something to complete her. And now? Now she stood in front of the only person who hated her more than Draco himself; his bloody aunt.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have broken your trust like this."

Professor Black lets out a breathy laugh. "That implies you had my trust in the first place."

She really can't argue with that.

* * *

There weren't many people that had the capability to render her speechless, yet here she is, in her _own_ dungeon of all places, uncertain of what to say or do. Ethically speaking, she should send the girl on her way, but ethics had never really been her thing, anyway.

She had known immediately that something had changed once the girl stepped through the door. Her brightest student had more magic in her little finger than most of her students combined. It was a shame that the mudblood insisted on wasting all her power on books rather than learning the finer art of magic.

The charm might have fooled her bouncers, but never her. She knew exactly what would happen if she'd take the charm away, but she wanted to see the filthy girl squirm for even daring to step inside a place so sacred to her.

Releasing a long, annoyed breath, she turns around and looks at the mudblood. The black fitted dress was hardly appropriate attire for a student, let alone for a place like this. Still, even she must admit that Hermione looks good, not that she would ever tell the girl that. She'd rather return to her former Lord, despite him being long gone. She smirks. Who would've known the almighty Lord would perish at the hands of an overprotective mother.

Love killed the most powerful wizard of all times and while Lily Potter had succumbed to death as well, she couldn't help but feel a hint of admiration for her former schoolmate.

She shakes her head, willing the memories away, before turning her back to the girl. Hermione Granger, for all intents and purposes, is unwelcome in her dungeon, so why has she placed a collar on the girl as if it is the most natural thing in the world? To embarrass her? Make her feel vulnerable?

Part of her feels flattered that the girl seems to have a fascination for her, yet at the same time, it causes her to feel repulsed. The mudblood is so far beneath her, not worthy of her attention, so why had she brought her to her own private playroom?

"The definition of BDSM," she commands, a disparaging smile on her face.

"An erotic practice involving bondage, discipline–"

"I'm not interested in the textbook definition of BDSM," she says, tutting. "Tell me what it means to you."

She takes a step closer, wanting to see the embarrassed look on the mudblood's face. Instead, she finds brown eyes connecting with her own, the girl's face flustered as she lowers her gaze towards the ground. She circles around the quivering girl, practically smelling the fear that radiates from her body and she revels in it.

"I wouldn't know," the girl says, almost inaudible.

For a moment she cackles, as her wand twirls in her hand. "Well, well. The brightest witch, clueless. Imagine that." It feels almost boring, the student she knows has a backbone, doesn't let anyone walk over her, yet this abomination in front of her, hardly dares to even speak.

"Do I intrigue you?" It's an unfair question, but the world is unfair and the sooner the girl realizes this, the better off she will be. She cocks her head to the side when there's no response. "Well, out with it, _mudblood_."

 _And there she is._ That furious look, the fire in her eyes, the thin lips biting back whatever response so insistently wants to come out. This is what she can work with.

"Yes," Hermione hisses.

Bellatrix faux-pouts. "Did I hurt the little mudblood's feelings? You want to run home to mommy now?"

She steps behind the girl, who even now, is slightly taller than her. Her right arm cradles around the girl's waist and pulls her tightly wound body against her own. Wand in her left hand, she slowly drags it down from the mudblood's collarbone to her abdomen. She lets it rest there and brings her mouth closer to the girl's ear.

"You're filth," she whispers. She delights in the shiver coming from the girl. "What would you have me do, hm? Do you wish for me to undress you, bend you over and smack that bottom until it bleeds? Do you wish for me to fuck you? Do you actually think," she sneers, "I would willingly put my hands on a filthy mudblood like yourself?"

"You're touching me now, aren't you?"

She can see the girl's head lowering, probably looking at the arm that's still holding the girl in a tight grip. Her wand immediately moves towards the defiant chin until she looks up again. She wants to argue with that logic, but every response dies before it can leave her lips.

"There are rules," she begins, ignoring the mudblood's defiance. "You will address me as Miss. You won't speak unless I ask you a question and most importantly, you'll do as I say, always. Understood?"

"Yes Miss."

"What is your safeword?" At this, the girl seems to hesitate.

"Safeword, Miss?"

Bellatrix sighs, so much for the girl being so utterly bright. She suspects there was a lot of research involved before her student even dared set foot in the dungeon. There's a small tinge of disappointment, of all people, she expected better of her.

"When a safeword is uttered all activities cease. You see," she says, her words vibrating against an earlobe. "'Stop' and 'no' are words you will be uttering, but you won't really mean it. So, your safeword?" She waits, can feel the girl's heartbeat growing stronger against the palm of her that's still resting against soft skin. When no answer comes, she grows impatient.

"Umbridge."

"What?!"

"Umbridge will be your safeword. You had your chance."

"You can't possibly be serious."

She delights in how offended the girl sounds and slowly wets lips. "Don't tell me you have the hots for that pink potato as well?"

"Of course not."

She didn't think it was possible for the girl to sound anymore offended as she already did. Apparently, she can still be pleasantly surprised, which is a, well, surprise.

"Do you have any hard limits?"

"I–I don't know."

"No matter," she says, waving it off with her left hand. "You'll know soon enough."

She hesitates, unsure of how to proceed. With men it was so much easier, she destroyed them, within their limits, until they cried out and begged for mercy. But it's different this time, she feels different. Not to mention, if any one finds out she has Hermione _mudblood_ Granger in her dungeon, she'd probably be send straight to Azkaban.

For a moment she contemplates sending Hermione back to Hogwarts. If she ends it now, no harm will be done, they can both go about their day and pretend none of this ever happened. Instead of doing exactly that, she tosses her wand aside. Hermione deserves to be tortured with both hands bare.

She twirls the girl around, one arms still firmly holding her in place, but now they're face to face. A tiny bead of sweat rolls from Hermione's left temple and she resists the urge to lick it away. Cocking her head to the side, she squints her eyes slightly and observes the mess inches away from her own face.

Hermione is nervous, that much is obvious from the lip that's firmly wedged between her teeth. More surprisingly than that, Hermione is wet. She can smell it from here and the scent is intoxicating. If this was anyone else, she'd throw her against the wall and show her exactly how disobedient girls get punished. If she's honest with herself she doesn't even know what's stopping her.

She releases her tight grip on Hermione's body and takes small steps back until she's at the edge of the spanking horse. With ease she hops on top of it and relaxes. _Distance is good,_ she thinks as feet dangle slightly above the ground.

For a moment she indulges in the idea of having Hermione on top of the spanking horse. Indulges in the image of her ass up in the air, as it becomes increasingly red with each blow of her hand.

They're not there yet, though. She wants to see Hermione squirm first.

"What would you like to happen next?"

She smirks at Hermione's deer-caught-in-headlight look. Delights in the feeling of having ambushed the girl, like she had ambushed her earlier that evening.

"Scratch that," she says. "Tell me about your fantasies. Surely you dream? Wake up in the middle of the night, dripping with wetness? What do you dream, pet?"

Hermione visibly gulps, and she can almost hear the protest that's about to fall from her lips. She's incredibly surprised when Hermione doesn't protest at all and starts speaking quietly yet determined.

"I dream of you in the shower," Hermione begins.

She can't do anything but listen as the words flow freely.

"You ambush me in the shower. I never know you're there...until you are. You don't touch me, but I always know if I would take one step backwards, I could press myself into you.

"You tell me to touch myself. And I..." her voice trails off.

Bellatrix leans forward, wondering why the girl has stopped speaking at all. Perhaps it's embarrassment, and maybe that means now would be a good time to tell Hermione to continue, to offer some encouragement, but she doesn't. She remains silent. Quietly urging her to go on.

"It's hard," Hermione says suddenly.

"What is?"

"Exposing myself like that. I've not yet determined whether you're just going to listen to me, so you can use it against me later."

She looks up and Bellatrix wants to engulf the girl in a hug, but they're not there yet. Not by far. She needs for Hermione to know that she can be trusted without having to say the words. If there is no trust whatsoever, they cannot continue.

Hermione seems to be pondering what to say next and after a long silence she shakes her head, as if to shake away her fears.

"When you tell me to touch myself I do as you say. It starts innocently, fingers trailing down my side, following the streams of water that fall to the floor. But that never lasts long, at some point you growl at me to touch myself in more...inappropriate places."

"Are they inappropriate if I tell you to touch yourself there?"

"No Miss."

"Continue."

"You always stop me before it actually gets anywhere. Push me into a wall and tease me relentlessly. But you never actually touch me, and I've never let it go beyond that."

"Even in your fantasy, you're a goody two-shoes. Wouldn't dare to dream about what I'd do to you. Why is that, hm?"

"The fantasy could never be as good as reality."

Bellatrix can't argue with that.


	2. Chapter 2

"I'll be honest with you."

Hermione looks up in surprise and if she's honest with herself, she's surprised too. She hadn't meant to explain what she's about to do. Exposing herself like this isn't easy, _Hermione_ doesn't make this easy on her. So far, she's done everything without as much as putting up a fight. Not that she had expected her to and yet, some part of her wishes she would have.

"I don't trust you," she says. "Just like you don't trust me."

She shakes her head, even now she can see the gears turning in the girl's head. A thousand scenario's, hundreds of possible explanations and perhaps two words eager to come out, even if they wouldn't necessarily be true.

"If we want to continue this," she gestures around, "there needs to be trust. I need to be able to trust that you know you can trust me. Without that trust, I can look at the surface, but that's all I can do. Do you understand?"

Hermione nods. _Of cours_ e, she does. The girl always understands. And perhaps it's true, but without proof, this- _whatever this is_ -cannot continue.

"What happens in my playroom, stays in my playroom. We're both in a position now, where we can destroy each other with one word to the wrong person. I _trust_ that won't happen?"

"Of course not, Miss. I would never."

She has no other choice than to believe it. Choosing not to believe it would mean a cease to whatever is unfolding between them and she's not quite ready for that. The mudblood hasn't squirmed yet.

For a moment she stares at her hand, twists her palm upside down and wonders how sharp she can make her nails before Hermione cries out her safeword.

"Undress," she says. When she notices the flush that creeps up the girl's neck, she merely raises her eyebrows and waits. She's aware of the conundrum she's put Hermione in. Her hands are still tied behind her back and she's not permitted to speak unless being asked a question. It's Hermione's first test of many more to come. If she wants to play, she'll have to abide by the rules.

She watches her struggle, knows how eager the girl is to speak, but she doesn't. The frown on Hermione's face is suddenly replaced by a smug look and she gasps as the dress dematerializes. So, the girl knows wandless magic and she's able to do it without speaking? She's both impressed and annoyed.

"No more magic." It's all she says and Hermione nods.

Her annoyance only grows as she sees the corners of the girl's lips curl up in what she can only describe as a satisfied smile. She rolls her eyes and gives the girl a taste of her own medicine. A blindfold wraps itself around Hermione's head and the smile is instantly gone. For a second, she wobbles, before finding her balance.

She hates being outsmarted, especially by someone the likes of Hermione Granger. Soundlessly, she rolls the name on her tongue, it feels strangely familiar and yet infuriating at the same time. Ignoring the thought, still sitting on top of the spanking horse she lets her gaze freely follow the curves of Hermione's body.

There's something about the female body that intrigues her, perhaps it's the absence of muscles that she's so used to seeing. Not that Hermione doesn't have muscles, they're just not as well defined as some of the males she's played with. Everything about Hermione screams subtleness, she loathes it.

She wants to bring out Hermione's inner demon, offer the pet a toy before taking it away again. Gauge her reaction, if anything, she wants to know what makes Hermione tick. She wants to know something about the girl that no one else does.

Gracefully, she jumps of the spanking horse and grabs a flogger off the wall. Its thick handle makes the flogger heavier than some of her others, it'll tire her out quicker, but it'll be worth it. The flogger grip is covered with braided leather, increasing her grip.

She notices the quick rise and fall of the girl's chest, can almost see the heart beating underneath the lace bra and its hidden contents. Placing a foot against her chest, she pushes somewhat gently until Hermione is on her back. Her legs now spread out, she murmurs a quick spell and the handcuffs disappear.

"Put them over your head and roll over."

It doesn't surprise her that Hermione follows her instructions like a good pet. She won't give her credit for it, not yet.

Towering over her, she lets the flogger flick in the air in a circular motion and smirks when she notices the sharp intake of breath. _That's right, squirm._

"Safeword?"

"Umbridge, Miss."

Nodding, she gets a rhythm going with the flogger, not low enough to touch any of the delicate skin, not high enough for Hermione not to notice she's doing it.

 _It's now or never_ , she thinks before lowering her wrist slowly until the falls of the flogger reaches Hermione's round bottom.

As far as rear end's go, it's one she can appreciate. She'll appreciate it a lot more once her bottom turns red from the falls of the flogger. Not enough to make it bleed, that would ruin a perfectly good flogger, but red enough to give the girl something to think about every time she sits down in the next couple of days.

Changing the circular motion to a figure eight she swings the falls in perfect rhythm. There's absolutely nothing quite like the sound of the falls hitting Hermione's skin, it's not hard enough to make her squirm yet, in time she'll build up to that. She wants the girl to make sounds of pleasure, not run out of the door and hide in McGonagall's lap to hide from the big scary Domme.

"All good?"

Hermione nods and she halts all motions. She lets out a deep sigh. This is not what they had agreed upon.

"Yes Miss. All good."

"Better."

It's all she says before starting the motion all over again. She can see the goosebumps appear on the skin, knows Hermione is enjoying herself and if she's honest, she is too. She's craving more, but for both their sanities, she'll keep it at one sense at a time. Hermione needs to learn, and she needs to learn what Hermione's limits are. As the flogger continues to graze the skin, she looks at Hermione's physical reactions.

Her shoulders are relaxed, even her bottom isn't squeezed tight together, every now and then she'll clench her thighs together, but she knows it's because she's aroused and not in pain. For now, she can clench all she wants, the friction will never be enough to achieve the orgasm she desperately will desire in time to come.

"Tell me, pet, is it better than your dreams?"

"Yes Miss."

She thinks she can hear a small giggle follow the words, but the falls of the flogger are too loud to properly hear it. She likes the sound, it reminds her of rain falling on plastic and depending on her strength, it can either drizzle or turn into an outpouring of the clouds themselves.

"Count them. If you miss one, we start again."

She cheats and cackles when Hermione says 'one' as soon as the falls lick her skin. She's not actually moving the flogger. They are resting on her back, the falls falling everywhere. _Lesson learned_.

Lifting the flogger up she starts flicking her wrist once more and brings it down to her cheeks, Hermione waits a moment before panting out the first number. She waits until she sees Hermione lift her bottom and lets the flogger down again.

"Two, Miss."

Three to fifteen goes a lot quicker, she continuously flogs the skin until Hermione starts to breath faster and faster. She knows the entire experience is exhilarating and while adrenaline is running through both of their bodies, she doesn't want Hermione to tire herself out yet, they still have such a long road ahead of them.

"Last one," she says, and Hermione counts it. She lets the falls of the flogger rest on her bottom, a replacement for the pat on the back she should get, hoping they offer some sort of compliment to the girl.

Rolling her eyes at her inner turmoil, she kneels and swallows. Every new movement feels like a progression of a relationship she's still quite unsure she even wants to be in. But for all intents and purposes they are in a relationship right now. Not one of lovers, not one of friends or even acquaintances, but one of Dommes and submissive and until their scene ends, that's the relationship she needs to nurture.

She runs her index finger over the curve of Hermione's bottom. Flattening the palm of her hand she strokes the reddened skin, she fights the urge to run her fingernails over it. It would be too much, too fast. One step a time, it's not something she's very good at but apparently, she can try.

When she sees Hermione relax under her touch something sparks inside of her and lifts her hand off the skin, only to let it come crashing down hard.

Hermione yelps.

Immediately softening the blow, she rubs the skin, this time the girl doesn't unclench her bottom and she laughs loudly.

"Scared, pet?"

"N-no Miss."

It's the biggest lie Hermione has told her yet and it infuriates her.

"Do _not_ lie to me," she snarls.

* * *

"Sorry Miss."

There's a huff, she's pretty sure it's a huff. Perhaps not, it's hard to tell what sound is _what_ when she's blindfolded, and her professor is stroking a part of her that she's not used to being touched at all.

Fair enough, there's been boys who have tried to grope her, their unexperienced hands squeezing parts that just didn't quite feel right. It's nothing like what Miss Black is doing.

Her hand feels magical and dangerous at the same time. At any given moment she can strike, and she can't tell whether she's excited or scared. _Okay_ , she thinks, _maybe I did lie._

She makes the mistake of relaxing and as soon as she does another blow hits her right cheek and- _mighty merlin's pointy hat_ -it stings. It feels as if a thousand little needles are stinging her at the same time, and it arouses her to no end. Part of her is scared she'll be soaking in a puddle of her own wetness soon, knowing it's not physically possible doesn't take away any of the fear. Perhaps that fear is exactly what makes Miss Black enjoy this as much as she is.

At first, she wondered about it, but there are cackles, small sounds of approval, although she's not quite sure the professor is aware she's making them and she's not going to enlighten her. It would probably stop all activities and that's the last thing she wants.

She's spend years dreaming of this, well, dreaming of scenario's like this. The dreams are nothing compared to reality. In her dreams the version of her professor was somehow much more inclined to hurt her, both with words and actions, although she's never allowed herself to dream that far and yet she knows the professor would be. It's a strange feeling, allowing yourself to dream of someone and yet not allowing yourself to dream of anything at all. It's one of those unexplainable psychology things that she wishes she could understand.

She's pulled from her thoughts when Miss Black's finger traces over her underwear. Well, thong. Never in her life had she worn a contraption like it, but somehow tonight felt like the right night for it. She had instantly regretted the decision as soon as she left her room, the thong uncomfortably digging into her skin. Perhaps Miss Black agrees because before she knows what's happening the thong is pulled from her body.

Swallowing, she licks her lips. She instantly frowns when she no longer feels the body heat near her. All her senses are confused as to what's happening. For a moment she thought Miss Black was going to touch her, _there_. But she can hear footsteps on what she thinks is the other side of the room. It's at that moment she realizes she misses Miss Black close to her.

 _How strange_.

"Sit up."

She does as instructed and bites her lip hard as she sits down on the skin that is probably as red as her face. It hurts, not badly enough to want to relieve herself from the pain, but it's something she'll feel for days to come. Which is probably what Miss Black intended.

"Drink this."

A bottle is shoved into her hands and she didn't realize how thirsty she was until the cool liquid fills her mouth and she gulps the contents down in a quick notion.

"Thank you, Miss."

"It's important to stay hydrated."

It's all she's going to get, and she knows it. Still, it's another lesson learned, and she appreciates that Miss Black is apparently looking out for her wellbeing. She finds it surprising and yet, she's not quite sure what else she would've expected.

The bottle is grabbed from her hands and before she knows what's happening, warm hands are pulling her to her feet. Her spine and neck pop. She wasn't aware of how uncomfortable the floor was before, but she's feeling the soreness now.

"Now," a voice hisses close to her ear. She moans when Miss Black's front is pressed into her back and immediately regrets the sound, but Miss Black doesn't comment on it.

"What to do with the little mudblood?"

She hates the name. It feels like Miss Black is caring for her one second and then taking it away the next by using degrading names. She hates it even more that she can't comment on it, she knows she'll be in trouble and it's the last thing she wants. As far as she's concerned she doesn't want this night to ever end, even if she knows it must.

Fingers are trailing up her sides and she rests her head against Miss Black's, who seems to allow it.

"Tell me, pet. Do you want to come?"

She wonders if it's a trick question, but her mouth is quicker than her brain and it gasps a breathy 'yes Miss' as an answer.

"Do you think," Miss Black says, and runs her tongue along the outer shell of her ear, "I would actually let you come?" Her hands trail up higher now and before she knows what's happening her bra is unclasped, and the straps are pulled down from her shoulders. She thinks she can hear the bra fall to the ground, feel the lace against her toes, but for all she knows it's a rat nibbling at them.

"Did you really think it was going to be that easy?"

"No Miss."

She had hoped, of course she had. She's quite sure she's never been this wet in her entire life, but she's not about to divulge that tidbit to Miss Black. It doesn't help that every now and then she thinks she can feel the tip of Miss Black's tongue against her ear, but it's so entirely subtle that she can't be sure and it's not like she can see the action happening. Perhaps she's sweating and its beads of sweat dripping down.

The one thing she is sure off is that Miss Black's hands are now trailing towards her front, the long warm fingers replaced by their nails every now and then, not hard enough to leave scratches, but intensely enough for her to wish she would.

"What have we here?"

 _Do not word vomit._ It's a mantra she's often repeated to herself and _Merlin's soggy beard_ it takes everything she has to not answer her with a plethora of words.

"Breasts, Miss."

Miss Black makes a sound that almost sounds like an actual giggle before it's muffled by the loud scraping of a throat and two hands that are firmly grasping a breast each. She's always felt a little underrepresented in the breast department but none of that is of any thought to her as Miss Black's hands are squeezing them, in fact they seem to be a perfect fit to her hands.

"I'm well aware of what they're called," Miss Black says. "I expect you to be braless the next time I see you outside of this room."

She gulps and frowns. Next time? Surely, she doesn't mean at Hogwarts?

"Miss?"

"Did I stutter?"

She shakes her head. No, she did not, but still, she has a million questions. None of them allow for her to use her safeword, though. Perhaps they can wait until later. She can't shake the thought, sitting in Professor Black's classroom, braless, exposed…aroused.

"You're thinking too much," Miss Black says. "Let's change that."

Within an instant every thought of Hogwarts disappears as Miss Black rolls her nipples between her fingers and once again she can't stop the moan from leaving her throat. She whimpers as the pressure increases and clenches her thighs as hard as she can to get some sort of friction going between her legs.

"I think," Miss Black whispers in her ear. "You're quite the _slut._ "

Something quite unexpected happens as soon as the words leave Miss Black's mouth. Her clit starts throbbing, as if it has its own conscience and it absolutely approves of the word she herself usually despises. Her entire body seems to have a mind of its own as her head nods and her mouth whispers softly, "Yes, Miss."

"I wonder if you trust me yet, pet."

When she wants to answer, a hand shoots up and clams itself tightly over her mouth.

"That," Miss Black hisses," didn't warrant an answer. The hand returns to its former place and Hermione tries to swallow the lump in her throat. Her chest starts heaving and it's as if everything inside of her screams for her freedom.

"UMBRIDGE." She thinks she might be shouting the word, but she's unsure.

Within an instant Miss Black releases her and she can feel how the blindfold is taken off her eyes. The last thing she expected to see as her eyes opened and adjust to the light, was the concerned look in Miss Black's face as she stepped in front of her.

"Deep breaths," she coaxes. "Look at me and do as I do."

Hermione breathes in when she does and breathes out a bit faster than Miss Black does. Panic courses through her entire body and her eyebrows are drawn together, her own hand grasping at her heart.

"Hermione, breathe. All you have to do is breathe in and out."

The words are soft spoken and somehow it calms her down. Within minutes her heartbeat feels under control and she angrily wipes at the tears that are rolling down her face. She can't believe she's ruined everything by having a panic attack over such a silly thing.

"Come," Miss Black says and takes her by the hand and guides her to the bed. They sit down, and Miss Black's thumb is stroking the skin between her thumb and index finger. She's completely fixated on it and even when Miss Black notices what she's doing, she doesn't stop.

"You did good," Miss Black finally says.

She looks up in surprise. "I ruined it."

Miss Black sighs and then smiles for all but a millisecond. "You ruined nothing. You showed you trusted me to stop when you mentioned your safeword. Tell me what happened."

"The hand over my mouth, I-I can't deal with it. It makes me panic, as if I need to break away." It's the best answer Miss Black is going to get for now. Not even she herself is quite sure what made her react that way.

"It's a hard limit," Miss Black says. "Figures," she says and winks. "You do your like freedom of speech."

It's exactly the right joke at the right time and she laughs. "What happens now?"

"Tell me what you need."

 _Three orgasms and a bottle of water_ , she thinks, but she doubts it's an appropriate response. "To continue."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes Miss."

She can see Miss Black demeanor transform in front of her. Gone are the smile and the kindness, instead there's a harshness on her face that she hadn't seen before. It's at that moment she realizes the difference between Miss Black 'the Domme,' and Professor Black ' the person'. Not that she's not a person now, she's just _different_. Perhaps, in a way, they're both putting on an act until they can both divulge their true selves. Until then, this will have to do. She's not complaining.

"Up," Miss Black says.

She does as instructed and its then she notices the blindfold that's loosely dangling from a finger on Miss Black's hand. Part of her hopes it won't be returned to its former position, she wants to see what Miss Black has in store for her; wants to see Miss Black's face as she does what she does.

Miss Black seems to anticipate her thought and disregards the blindfold. Instead she looks around the room, regarding each piece of furniture as if contemplating what to use next.

"Actually," she says, looking back at her. "I have a better idea."

She has no idea what's happening, but as soon as Miss Black's hand reaches for her and grasps it firmly, she can feel herself disapparate and when she lands, she bends over, trying not empty her stomach.

"Pathetic," Miss Black says. "Nineteen and still unable to properly apparate?"

"I'm here in one piece, aren't I?"

If looks could kill, Hermione would be shattered into a million little specs. Miss Black's eyes are like fire and low growl reminds her of the wolves she's seen in the Forbidden Forest.

"S-sorry Miss."

Miss Black laughs. "Oh, you will be."

It's only then Hermione notices she's standing in a bathroom and when she looks up it's as if a waterfall is about to cascade down on her and she screams as cold water engulfs her body.

"No more back talk," Miss Black says.

She shivers and wraps her arms around her body. Within seconds the water slowly turns warmer until the temperature is comfortable enough for her to expose her body to Miss Black again. It's quite strange, the woman is standing far away enough to not get splashed by the water and yet she's never felt closer.

"I believe," she says, "you had a fantasy?"


	3. Chapter 3

"Close your eyes."

It's an easy enough request; one that she follows immediately once it's spoken into existence. The water calms her and rather than focus on the woman standing in front of her, she listens to the rhythm of the droplets that fall onto the ground. It's a symphony and with her body as its conductor they create beautiful music.

"Now," Miss Black hisses. "Show me."

She doesn't have to ask her to clarify. Her hands move before she can even take a minute to think about it. Her fingers feel soft against her skin, although she's sure Miss Black's fingers were a thousand times softer, like fine-threaded silk.

Slowly, she trails her fingers upwards from her sides, and while she has an overwhelming need to touch her nipples, she doesn't. Her fingertips move along her collarbone and up higher to her neck. She's giving herself goosebumps; no amount of hot water can get them to disappear again.

She trails her mouth with her right pointy-finger and dips it inside, sucks on it and then releases it with a small _pop_. For a moment she thinks she can hear a soft moan, but it's hard to pinpoint where it came from. She likes to think it was Miss Black's.

"Who knew the _mudblood_ could be such a tease?"

 _Not this again_ , she thinks. Rather than follow her instructions, she stops in her tracks and opens her eyes. The moment she does she can see that pure unadulterated anger in Miss Black's eyes. Still, she stares, her mouth twitches and it takes everything she has not to scold Miss Black for her usage of that vile word.

Miss Black tuts and cocks her head to the side. "Ooh," she says, even though no sound leaves her mouth. There's a fake pout plastered on her face and it infuriates Hermione.

"How can you speak of trust and then call me _that_ word," she spits out.

"Simple," Miss Black replies easily. "They are unrelated."

Hermione scoffs. She feels naked, vulnerable and wishes more than anything that she had a towel to cover herself up with. It's getting too complicated now, she never wanted that.

Miss Black sighs. " _Hermione_ , is that 'word' as you say, a hard limit?"

She hasn't thought of that option before. As far as she understood, hard limits were for play related things, not words that were used to undermine her as a human being.

"It is," she says. "I hate it."

Miss Black walks over to her and she tries to swallow the lump in her throat. She nearly flinches when Miss Black's palm is placed against her cheek. A thumb caresses her upper lip. There's a deep sigh, some squinting of the eyes and then Miss Black says, "I'm sorry."

Bellatrix Black is apologizing to her and it's so incredibly foreign to her that she just stares, unable to speak. She frowns, and Miss Black lets out an audible sigh.

"I'll admit," she says, "it gives me great pleasure to rile you up. However, I don't want to hurt you." She grins. "Not like that anyway."

Hermione can feel the tears prickling in her eyes and she wills them away with little to no success.

"I don't think of you as lesser than me," Miss Black continues. "Perhaps, once upon a time, I did. It was what I was taught. Teaching at Hogwarts has given me insight, though. I have learned from my family's mistakes but..." she trails off and is quiet for a moment. "I never meant to hurt you," she says again.

This time she deliberately seeks out Hermione's eyes and when they connect, Miss Black nods. It's in that moment that Hermione realizes she trusts Miss Black. Or, at least, trusts what she says.

"Okay," she says. The word is not enough to convey all that she feels and yet, it says everything. She just hopes Miss Black understands.

"Thank you for trusting me," Miss Black says and Hermione cries.

She cries because Miss Black _does_ understand.

She cries because all of this is so very intense.

She cries because for the first time in a long time, she finally feels safe. In a shower. _Naked_. With her professor.

It's then Miss Black surprises her once more and wraps her warm arms around her shivering body. Her head is cradled against Miss Black's shoulder and with more affection than Hermione could ever have expected, Miss Black softly shushes her until her tears subside.

"You're getting wet," she finally says and chuckles softly. It's absurd really. This whole thing between them and yet, there's a familiarity. An understanding.

"Not in the way I envisioned," Miss Black murmurs.

Hermione blushes at the innuendo but says nothing. Being in Miss Black's arms is everything she could ever have hoped for and it's so much more. A hand is gently stroking her back and the other is tightly wrapped around her waist. She never wants to leave and simultaneously she wants to pick up where they left off. For now, Miss Black's embrace wins.

* * *

She hates that she hurt the girl the way she did. It was never intentional, to her it's just another word. One that once held meaning and is now...just another word to rile up the shivering girl in her arms. Still, Hermione's defiance was a moment that made her understand better. And now that she understands, she wishes she never uttered the word in the first place.

Nuzzling Hermione's neck with her nose, she hums softly until she can feel Hermione relax. She doesn't care that her clothes are soaked, that Hermione hiccups every now and then or that their moment was once more interrupted. They're still having a moment, albeit a different one. Equally important, though.

In the last couple of hours, she has learned more about Hermione than she's done since the girl wandered into the great hall of Hogwarts. She used to try and guess in which house students would end up in, Hermione was the first student where her guess was wrong. Then again, perhaps the sorting hat was wrong, it happens occasionally. None of that matters now. Eventually they'll both have to return to Hogwarts and face reality, but for now she wants to be in the moment with Hermione.

"Tell me," she says, placing her mouth closer to Hermione's ear. "What do you need?"

The answer comes quickly and doesn't surprise her.

"You."

She nods, and her heart is thumping underneath her chest as she places a soft kiss just below Hermione's ear. For a moment the girl stiffens in her arms and she chuckles when nails dig themselves into her back. Even through her clothing, she can feel it, revels in it even.

"Turn around," she whispers and reluctantly unwraps her arms from Hermione. Within an instant she's turned around and Bellatrix smiles before pushing her against the wall.

"Arms up," she says.

When Hermione does as instructed, she takes a step back and removes her own clothing as silently as possible. She's never done this for anyone else, never allowed anyone to see her, but Hermione is different, she knows that much.

Taking a step forward, she runs a finger along Hermione's spine until she reaches her bottom. Not giving the girl a moment to prepare, she smacks her bottom, hard.

"One," Hermione says and Bellatrix looks up, surprised.

"Good girl," she says and then presses her front against Hermione's back. Indulging her own desires, she places her lips on Hermione's right shoulder blade and leaves a kiss. At Hermione's sound of approval, she leaves another, and another. Her right-hand trails along the girl's waist and slowly moves down, giving Hermione every opportunity to speak her safe word.

Hermione stays quiet, aside from the small mews and Bellatrix gently pries her feet apart with her own. Her hand moves lower and she chuckles at Hermione's disappointed groan when she moves to her leg instead. Using her nails this time, she trails back up, leaving red welts as she goes.

"Please," Hermione breathes out.

She wants to indulge the girl. But, they're not there yet. Perhaps it's she herself who needs more time. It hardly matters. Soon, she'll give into everything Hermione ever wanted and more. It's only a matter of time.

Pressing harder into her, her tongue licks at the water droplets falling down her back, her teeth bite into the skin and she smiles against the skin as Hermione arches her back. Moving up higher, she flicks an earlobe with her tongue before sinking her teeth in it. She bites until Hermione moves her head to the side and then she kisses her cheek. It's as affectionate as she's going to get- for now -and she hopes Hermione will understand.

Sinking through her legs, she leaves a trail of kisses on the back of Hermione's thighs, her bottom and the small dip at the bottom of her spine. Looking up, she sees Hermione's forehead resting against the tiles and she smiles. She's smiling so goddamn much, it makes her cheeks hurt.

She racks her nails across the firm bottom and watches in fascination as the red welts appear, she instantly kisses away the sting they undoubtedly leave with kisses. And when Hermione relaxes even more into her touch, she smacks her bottom twice.

"Two and three," Hermione pants in between small moans.

Nodding approvingly, another thing she seems to be doing constantly, she trails a finger from Hermione's ankle up to her thigh. She knows she's doing it antagonizing slow and if Hermione's wiggling bottom is any indication, Hermione likes it. A lot.

"Uninvited," she whispers, "but oh _so_ welcome."

It's only then that she gives Hermione what she's so desperately been aching for. Her index finger slides through wet folds and as soon as Hermione cries out, she stops the motion.

"No, no, no," Hermione chants. "Oh, please, no. Don't stop."

Bellatrix chuckles and stands up straight. "Turn around."

Hermione does as instructed, and she's taken aback by the sheer desire in Hermione's eyes. She pushes her against the tiles once more and then puts that same finger in her mouth. Releasing it with a pop, like Hermione had done not so long ago, she wiggles her brows.

"You taste delicious, _Hermione_."

She presses into the girl and places Hermione's arms around her own waist. Her gaze moves all over her face and when they make eye contact, she moves in. She's not gentle, the want in Hermione's eyes has taken any gentleness out of her.

She claims Hermione's mouth with her own, nibs at her bottom lip with her teeth and bites until she can feel Hermione tremble. Only then does she trail the same lip with her tongue and when Hermione's mouth opens, she instantly finds hers.

Her left-hand cups Hermione's jaw and she pulls back when she's desperate for air.

"On your knees," she breathes out and _oh_ her plan is so deliciously evil, it almost makes her cackle. She knows exactly what view Hermione has now, she puts her left hand against the wall for support and then fists Hermione's hair with her free hand.

"What do you see?"

"You," Hermione says. "I see you."

"That's right. Don't you dare move," she says then, her voice low.

She can hear Hermione squirm as her hand lets go of the curly hair and moves between her own legs, towards the heat that so desperately wants attention. Slowly, her index finger slides between her wetness until she reaches her clit that's throbbing with want.

"Did you really think," she says, "that I was going to let you come today?"

She moves slowly, just the way she likes it and if Hermione's smart, she'll pay attention to what she's doing. Who knows, perhaps in the future the girl gets to mimic her motions. A hiss escapes her throat as she circles her clit and she throws her head back.

Her legs are trembling, and she can feel Hermione's hands steadying her hips, an action she's grateful for, despite her instruction to not move. For now, she'll let it slide.

Dipping a finger inside herself, she moans loudly, much louder than she had intended to, but then again, she's so much wetter than she had expected herself to be. For a moment she ponders giving Hermione a taste, but quickly dismisses that thought. The girl hasn't earned it yet. Besides, teasing is much more fun.

And teasing she does, constantly.

She teases with moans.

She teases by biting her own lip until it bleeds.

She teases by rubbing fast circles until her fingers cramps up.

She teases as her knees buckle and Hermione's name is uttered as she pants, moans and nearly screams from the intensity of her orgasm.

"Up," she says and when Hermione is on her eye level, she smiles one last smile before her features darken. "Now," she hisses, "time for one of my own fantasies to come to fruition."


	4. Chapter 4

She apparates them to her summer home, straight into the bathroom. It's a terrible idea, really. She's Bellatrix Black for crying out loud: she doesn't take people home, especially not people who are also her student. It's a recipe for disaster.

Hermione's hand is firmly held in her own and she stares at it as if it's a foreign object; as if she has no idea what to do with it. It's then that she notices the droplets falling to the ground. They are still naked and when she looks up, she can see Hermione trembling.

Reaching over, she grabs a thick towel and unfolds it. This isn't an action she wants to do magically. Gently, she turns Hermione around and dries her back, her bottom and her legs. Only then does she allow Hermione to turn around once more and she revels in the blush that appears on Hermione's cheeks.

"Still so shy," she murmurs.

In mere minutes Hermione is toweled dry from top to bottom, although her hair is still slightly damp. Discarding the towel in a corner, she grabs a new one and wraps it around Hermione's shoulders to keep her warm.

"What about you, Miss?"

It's a fair question, one she doesn't quite know how to answer. To allow Hermione to repeat those actions on her would be far more intimate than she has ever allowed anyone before. Then again, Hermione has shown her that she trusts her, perhaps it's time to extend that hand. She nods quickly before she starts to regret it.

It feels strange. Unfamiliar. Hermione uses the towel as if even the lightest touch will shatter her in a million pieces. It's not that she objects, it's just new.

 _Welcomed_.

Oh, so strange.

She smiles to herself when there's one part of her body that Hermione has carefully worked around, and she knows that the girl is probably working herself into a frenzy on how to proceed. Not saying a word, she spreads her legs, giving Hermione every opportunity to continue her delicate work. She can see the sharp inhale before she presses the towel between her thighs.

"Drop it," she says.

Hermione drops the towel and her hands are shaking. It's both intoxicating and exhilarating to see that she can have such an effect on her.

She motions for Hermione to stand up, grabs her hand once more and guides her towards the bedroom. With a flick of her wrist the room is illuminated by candles that gently flicker. It leaves the room dark enough for her to feel at her utmost comfortable. She's always preferred the darkness.

"Lay down," she whispers, her voice not unkind.

Hermione follows her instructions to a tee, the towel around her shoulders the last barrier between her touching the soft sheets with her upper body. She doesn't want her to remove it, needs the barrier as a last lifeline, in case it all goes wrong. At some point, it always does.

Swallowing the last of her own nervousness, she straddles Hermione's hips, hyper aware that Hermione is trembling beneath her. Not from fear, perhaps not even from excitement. Perhaps they're both just nervous. It's too late to stop now. She doesn't want to.

She leans in closer and brushes some of Hermione's hair away from her face.

"Time for one of my fantasies," she whispers in her ear. "Tell me, pet. How do you feel about knives?"

"I've–well, I don't think I've ever thought about them."

It's an honest answer she can appreciate. Knives are a rare artform. If used wrongly, they're deadly. Perhaps once upon a time, if she were more in tune with her darkness, she too could have been deadly. But no one is going to die tonight.

"La petite mort," she whispers then. "Do you know what that means, pet?"

"The little death, it has two meanings," Hermione rattles quickly.

"And what are those, my little academic?"

Hermione chuckles at that and it warms something inside of her that scares her half to death.

"A brief loss or weakening of consciousness," Hermione says carefully. "These days more often referred to the sensation of a post orgasm."

"Well done," she says. Her teeth close around her earlobe and tug at it lightly before releasing it. "And which one do you think I'll be referring to tonight?"

"The first one, Miss."

"Well," she says, sitting up straight. "If you're lucky, maybe you'll get to experience them both, hm?"

Reaching over to the nightstand, she opens the drawer and takes out her trusted knife. Some days she feels as if the knife has a strange pull, as if with one well-aimed and timed throw it could take a life as if it's nothing. There one moment, gone the next.

None of that today, though. Today she will use it as if it's her most prized possession and perhaps today it is. Until something or someone else takes its place.

"Safeword?"

"Umbridge, Miss."

"Do you trust me?"

"Yes Miss."

"Close your eyes, pet."

Hermione does and there's a strange smile on her face. As if she's completely and utterly in heavenly bliss, the trembling gives her away, though. A part of Hermione is still scared and it's good. It means she's still paying attention and hasn't gone off into whatever world submissives disappear to from time to time.

"Don't make any sudden moves."

 _Life or death_. She wants to say it out loud but doesn't. Maybe one day she will, when Hermione is no longer scared and needs a new incentive to not disappear in her mind.

She carefully places the knife against Hermione's abdomen, can see the muscles react and relax and only then does she trace it upwards. Pays close attention to how Hermione reacts. Perhaps deep down inside she is scared that she will push too hard, draw blood and have Hermione run for the hills.

Perhaps she should. Leave her with a single scar to forever remember what they almost had. Then they could still pretend none of this ever happened. But she doesn't want to. She wants Hermione. Here. With her. At her mercy.

She traces the knife along the swell of breasts, knows to stay far away from Hermione's mouth and neck. She has learned her lesson. There is no silencing Hermione Granger. Not forcefully, anyway.

Her left hand reaches upwards and takes a nipple between her thumb and forefinger. She rolls it until Hermione gasps, but her body doesn't move. Hermione too, has learned her lesson. It makes her proud, but she doesn't utter the words. Not yet.

She rolls her hips against Hermione's. Knows exactly the effect it will have on Hermione. It's tempting the devil to release itself, but Hermione still doesn't move.

"Such self-control," Bellatrix says. "I wonder what would happen if I did this..."

She leans forward and replaces her fingers with her mouth and takes away the knife at the same moment that Hermione's back arches. She grins, so predictable.

"Am sorry, Miss."

"Sshh, you're okay, pet."

And she is. Hermione is fine. She responded exactly the way Bellatrix wanted her to and she hopes that it's just another checkmark on the trust list for Hermione. She didn't hurt the girl. Took away the danger before she even knew it was there.

She sits up straight again and brings her right hand to Hermione's leg. Leads the cold blade down a path to Hermione's knee and back up. It leaves a trail of red, but no blood.

Perhaps she should have been a surgeon. Her blade skills are exceptional.

Repeating the action on Hermione's left leg, she watches the girl like a hawk. Every gasp of breath, every tremble in her abdomen, every flutter of her eyelids, until she knows exactly how Hermione responds to the blade digging into her skin without it ever leaving a lasting trace. Without it ever causing her harm.

Hermione is beautiful like this, completely at her mercy; trusting her. She doesn't think she deserves it. She has been cruel to the girl before, both inside and outside of class. Has been wanting to push her to see how amazing she is, how her talents are wasted on books and knowledge. Hermione's skills are almost as impressive as hers were back when she was that age. Almost.

She puts the knife away. There has been enough teasing for today. Hermione has been patient, and now it's time to reward her.

Leaning forward once more, she captures Hermione's lips with her own. She brushes her tongue over the wet lips and smiles when Hermione almost hesitantly lets her own tongue find hers.

It's no subtle dance, no battling for domination, it's just pure extasy. Kissing Hermione feels like drinking from a well of cold water on an unbearable hot day. She can't get enough of it and only after Hermione is gasping for air, does she release her lips with a pop.

"You're good at that."

Hermione smiles. "Thank you, Miss."

"Thank me later," she whispers.

* * *

Miss Black is everywhere. In her mind, above her, beneath her and behind her. It's as if the woman has five hands and knows how to use them to torture Hermione until she wants to scream. She doesn't, though.

She remains still, hasn't been given permission to move. It's getting harder with the way Miss Black's mouth is nipping at her skin. She knows there will be bruises in the morning, or perhaps Miss Black will take them away after it's all said and done.

She doesn't want to think about that. Doesn't want to think about the moment that is inevitable. The moment she goes back to Hogwarts. Tomorrow she's expected to sit in Miss Black's class and pretend like none of this has ever happened.

But it is happening. Right now.

Miss Black's fingers are buried in her hair, they tug and release as she sucks at - and releases her nipples. It's a rhythm that is quickly joined by the pulsating of her clit. She's never been this wet before and Miss Black hasn't even left her upper body yet and she's not sure she ever will.

The only action her lower body is getting is the rolling of Miss Black's hips against her own.

She's desperate for more friction.

Desperate for a touch that will sooth the ache between her legs.

Desperate for anything.

Desperate to hear more words fall from those glorious lips.

"Please."

She hears herself whisper the words and hopes Miss Black won't punish her for speaking out of turn. But she can't help herself. She begs her over and over until a finger is placed against her mouth, effectively shushing her.

"Not yet, pet."

It's torture. Pure, unadulterated, heavenly bliss. It's in the way Miss Black is everywhere at once. Like magic. Perhaps it's exactly that. It makes her wonder about the knife. Was she bleeding? Is Miss Black just tracing those blood spatters with her mouth? Undoing any damage that Hermione didn't even notice were happening to her?

She doesn't think it's possible. She would have felt the knife leave actual marks. Would have winced at the pain. She's no hero, she cries bloody murder whenever she stubs her toe, so she's pretty sure that actual knife marks would have made her cry out.

Whatever thoughts are running through her mind, completely vanish when Miss Black does _something_ with her hand that nearly makes her scream out. It's as if she suddenly has ten fingers and all of them are very intent to create a pathway to where she wants all those fingers the most.

They're creeping down her abdomen, past the trimmed curls and then–

"Oh Merlin, no please, come back!"

Miss Black is chuckling, and the sound infiltrates her skin, wraps itself around her heart as if it's there to stay, forever. A piece of Miss Black that is all hers now. She will cherish it, no matter what happens next.

"Such good pet you've been," Miss Black whispers then. She doesn't even frown at the tears that well up behind her eyelids at the sound of those words.

Her legs spread as if they have a mind of their own when Miss Black moves down her body. Warm arms wrap themselves around her hips and a soft stream of air is blown against her clit and it makes her swoon right on the spot.

Soft, smooth fingers are stroking against her skin but still not where she desires them most. It's top notch teasing and it's both infuriating and delicious. Her fingertips are stroking the inside of her thighs, draw small circles until her skin tingles and becomes numb and it's only then that Hermione realizes exactly what Miss Black is doing.

"La petite mort," she whispers.

"Yes pet," Miss Black says in a long breath. "Exactly."

And it does happen. It happens purely by the bliss of Miss Black's fingertips against her skin, the drawn circles that seem to penetrate every single cell in her body. She loses herself in the rhythm, in the touches, in Miss Black's words softly spoken encouraging words until all sensations just completely overwhelm her.

And maybe, just maybe, this is what heaven feels like, because she's pretty sure she's just left her body and ascended into a piece of heaven that is all hers. There are no words, no feelings, no more questions in the back of her mind that desperately need answers. There is just... nothing. But the kind of nothing that feels good, the kind of nothing she has longed for before she even knew she needed it. The kind of nothing that is being delivered to her on a silver platter by Miss Black.

She exists in an impenetrable bubble until a gentle voice calls out to her. And she doesn't want to go, doesn't want to leave her bubble yet. She wants to remain there for all of eternity.

But the voice is stronger.

It reaches for her and pulls her back. Or perhaps the bubble was broken because it could no longer contain her happiness.

"That's it, just breathe," Miss Black coaxes. "Come back to me, Hermione."

And she does.

She comes back and opens her eyes. Miss Black is on her side now and when she makes eye contact, she's sure she can see everything. A second in which all of Miss Black is revealed before those eyes darken over again.

A thumb is stroking against her abdomen, soothing the tremors she's feeling until every muscle in her body relaxes once more. Miss Black's right hand is playing with her hair and there's an actual smile on her face.

"Are you okay?"

Hermione nods and then there's this feeling of dread, as if all the happiness is sucked right out of her body.

"What you experienced was sub space. A little piece of bliss and what you're about to experience is called sub drop," Miss Black says, pulling Hermione onto her side, then reaching for the towel behind her and dropping it onto the floor.

"It's perfectly normal," Miss Black says. "You did nothing wrong. It's a bit like riding a rollercoaster in that muggle world of yours. There was a lot of adrenaline that's leaving your body all at once."

"I feel drained," she says then. "Tired. Like I'm about to burst into tears."

Miss Black chuckles. "Oh, there will be tears."

Warm arms engulf her then and draw her closer until she buries her face in the crook of Miss Black's neck. Her arm draped over Miss Black's waist and a leg perfectly wedged between Miss Black's.

And then she cries.

And Miss Black lets her. Comforts her. Gives her forehead kisses until she feels the pull of sleep.

"Let go," Miss Black whispers. "I've got you and I am so, _so_ proud of you."


	5. Chapter 5

She's staring at the ceiling, wondering if it was all a dream. There should be a body next to hers, warming her up and comforting her, but there isn't. There should be marks all along her body to show a night full of passion, but there aren't.

She's laying in her Hogwarts bed. With her fellow Hogwarts students. At Hogwarts.

But Miss Black wasn't a dream. All of it truly happened. Everything she had promised, she made good on.

She smiles to herself as she rolls over in bed. She's not going to question how she ended up here, why Miss Black healed her body or why she feels so incredibly relaxed, as if she's still floating on a little cloud of happiness.

In three hours, she's about to enter the class of Professor Black. In three months, she will graduate from Hogwarts, older than any student before her, but perhaps also more knowledgeable than any of her fellow graduates. And in three years? She doesn't want to think about that yet. But she does. Because she's Hermione Granger and how could she not think about the future?

Yesterday she would have said she would want to work at the Ministry. One night with Bellatrix Black has changed that. If one teacher could make such a profound change in her life, doesn't she owe it to younger students to do the same for them? Not by dominating them. But by passing on her knowledge. By teaching them everything that has been taught to her.

Professor Granger. She sounds it out and nearly bursts into a giggle. It sounds strange, like an intangible thing. But it makes her heart flutter. Perhaps she truly has found her calling after all. It excites her.

"Get up, you lazy bum."

"I shan't. I'm thinking."

Ginny hits her with a pillow.

"Think somewhere else. You have about ten minutes. But just because I'm curious. What are you thinking about?"

She shouldn't say it. She really shouldn't. The implications alone could be disastrous. But she can't help herself, something inside of her is dying to get out. So, she says it. As casually as she can. With no emotion behind it.

"Professor Black."

She's a little bit disappointed when Ginny doesn't even question it.

* * *

As soon as she steps into Professor Black's classroom, she knows she's made a giant mistake. It's not the actual stepping into the classroom that is the mistake, nor is it the night they shared.

She's wearing a bra. The one thing Miss Black had forbidden. Glancing around, she wonders if there's still time to run back upstairs. She would never make it in back in time and facing Professor Black's wrath for being late isn't worth it. Bra or not. Perhaps the Professor won't notice.

Ginny is sitting right next to her, mumbling something about Harry and how work as an auror hasn't gotten in the way of their romantic letters and it makes Hermione a little bit queasy. She's happy for them, of course, but with Harry being her best friend, it often makes for awkward conversation.

Just last week, she magically tied Ginny's tongue when she started to speak about their first time together. Ginny had gotten the hint, though. There were a lot less details after that.

"The advantage of a nonverbal spell?"

The entire class freezes, several hands shoot up, including her own.

"Ms. Granger?"

"Your adversary has no warning about what kind of magic you are about to perform, which gives you a split-second advantage."

"Five points to Gryffindor."

Hermione chuckles. The disdain for Gryffindor is still there, at least that hasn't changed. But there's something in Professor Black's eyes that Hermione can now interpret as something other than disdain.

"Something funny, Ms. Granger?"

"No Miss."

Her eyes grow wide, can't believe she's so stupid as to say Miss rather than Professor. She can feel her cheeks flush as she corrects herself.

"I mean Professor. Sorry Professor."

"Quite alright," Professor Black hums. "Bit tongue-tied perhaps?"

As soon as Professor Black speaks the words, Hermione can feel her own tongue being tied. She's unable to speak, to utter any form of communication and it turns her on. Just a little.

"Now," Professor Black says. "Last time we practiced non-verbal spells most of you looked like you overdosed on U-No-Poo. We'll start off with something simple. Ms. Weasley. Show us your best Levicorpus."

Ginny raises her wand, flicks it upwards and before Hermione knows what's happening, she's hanging upside down. Still unable to speak, she just glares at Ginny with her best 'I'll get you for this' look.

"Well done. Probably best to set her down now, hm?"

When she's safely back in her seat, she can feel the incantation leave her body and she opens her mouth to hiss at Ginny.

"Really? Me?"

Ginny just shrugs.

"Concentration and mental discipline are the most crucial whilst performing spells non-verbally," Professor Black says. "You will practice these in pairs. If I see any of you look constipated during your exams, it will be an instant fail."

She waves her hand and the students' desks move towards the walls, giving them ample space to practice their spells.

Ginny goes for a non-verbal Patronus while Hermione tries her very best to give Ginny a pig tail like Hagrid did to Dudley all those years ago.

"Stop it," Ginny hisses. "It's like you're trying to tickle my arse and I don't like it!"

She grins and puts up a shield instead when Ginny tries to retaliate. It knocks Ginny back on her arse and Hermione counts it as a win.

"You're no fun," Ginny says as she pouts. She takes the hand offered to her, regardless so.

They practice spells for a while and it's almost enough for Hermione to forget that only last night she was writhing under Miss Black, begging for a release that never came. For a moment she wonders when she will be allowed, if they're going to repeat that night many times over.

Professor Black isn't treating her any different in class than before. Still pays very little attention to her and if it wasn't for the fact that she could see it in Professor Black's eyes, she would say nothing had changed at all.

But it's not true. Everything has changed. She herself has changed. And she doesn't mind. Not at all.

* * *

Mediocrity. All her students are mediocre. At least three of them have been practicing non-verbal spells for a good two years now, with little to show for it. There's one exception, though. There always is.

Hermione Granger. The girl who has changed the game. Who defied all her defenses and somehow wiggled her way into her–

She shakes her head. It's entirely too early to go there. They've only just begun. Hermione is still her student, both inside and outside of Hogwarts. Learning the ropes, although there's very little she can still teach Hermione that would be allowed within Hogwart's curriculum.

Three more months and she can teach Hermione spells the girl has only ever read about in books in the restricted section of the library. Hermione has a natural curiosity, she'll want to learn, but she'll give her an earful about it with each spell she learns.

If she's honest with herself, Hermione's talents would be wasted at the Ministry. But there's not a teacher at Hogwarts who doesn't know about her wish to work for the Minister, to bring real change to the wizarding world and if anyone can... It's Hermione. Still, she wishes Hermione would push herself a little further.

"Granger!"

Oh, that look is utterly delicious. It's a flustered look, a shy one, one that says, 'I'm not quite sure how to act around you after all that transpired between us'. They're dancing around each other on a very fine line, both so tempted to cross it. It would be disastrous.

Three months. They can do this.

"Yes, Professor?"

"Class dismissed!"

Students run out of her classroom faster than they would if they were being chased by a dementor. Except for Ginny, who's casually leaning against the door, waiting for her friend.

"Ms. Granger will catch up with you in a minute."

She doesn't miss the look that Ginny throws Hermione. A way to say, 'it was nice to know you, rest in peace'. It makes her laugh. As soon as the door closes, with Ginny safely on the other side, she turns to Hermione.

"You broke a rule."

She can see Hermione gulp, watches that faint glow appear on her cheeks. Apparently, her pet likes to be reprimanded. Well. She'll just have to teach her differently. For now. Reprimands can be fun.

"Sorry, Professor."

"Oh no," she says, moving in closer. "This time, you can absolutely call me Miss." She grabs a fistful of Hermione's hair, pulls her head back and moves in impossibly close. "Now. Show me how skilled you are in non-verbal spells."

In an instant Hermione's bra is gone. No soft mumbling, no constipated looks, just one eager to please. And she does. Hermione has been pleasing her from the moment she's stepped inside of her dungeon.

"Good girl. I think a punishment is fitting, though. Don't you think?"

"Yes Miss."

"It's a good thing, I'll have three months to think about one."

Hermione's face falters then. It's sadness that reflects onto her own face.

"You're worth waiting for, pet. Don't doubt that. You make it very hard to do the responsible thing." She smiles then. "I'm not a very responsible person."

"No more dungeon visits?"

She shakes her head. They can't. They shouldn't. It would be a horrible idea. Hermione does not yet know who exactly steps inside of her dungeons. She got lucky this time. There's another Professor who comes in from time to time. One who would absolutely have an abundance of words to say if she knew what they did last night. They can't be caught. It's not worth the hassle. She's played the waiting game before. She can do it again. In fact, this time she actively chooses to. For Hermione. For them. For everything that isn't there yet but absolutely could be.

"I'll admit you make it hard to tell you no. But there are certain boundaries we've crossed, that we truly shouldn't have. I don't regret them," she hastily adds. "But I want to do right by you. I hope you understand that."

"I do, Miss. It makes me sad, though."

"Likewise. We'll find a... more suitable solution. Perhaps you could write me a letter, hm? Letters aren't forbidden."

Hermione perks up then and it's exactly what she needs to see. Happiness. She never wants to see anything else on her face. Not at Hogwarts anyway. Outside of Hogwarts? She wants to see Hermione with all the emotions a person could possibly muster.

"Now go. Before Ginny asks too many questions." She lets go of Hermione's hair and strokes her cheek with her thumb.

"Miss?"

"Yes?"

Hermione leans forward, places a gentle kiss on her cheek.

"Thank you for being you."

She smiles and her cheek feels as if it's been blessed by an angel itself. It's warm and fuzzy. All feelings she's not quite sure how to deal with.

"You're welcome, pet. Now go."

When Hermione closes the door behind her, Bellatrix sighs. They'll be okay. Together.

Three months. It'll be worth it.

The door opens once more.

"Forgot something, Granger?"

"Not quite," a voice calls out.

Her heart is beating faster than it ever has before. This was all such a giant mistake.

"Minerva. You scared me."

"Why is that? Does the infamous Bellatrix Black have something to hide?"

She stands up taller, ready to defy and deny all accusations.

"I want to discuss the final exams," Minerva says.

Okay. Exams. She can handle that. Had Minerva been stepping inside to accuse her of sleeping with a student, she wouldn't have known what to do. They made the right choice.

Some people are worth waiting for.


End file.
